


Overthinking It

by Rizandace



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Depression, I almost didn't post this, I'd already written it, M/M, Post 3x06, Q and Eliot actually talk about their crap and get their heads out of their asses, Suicide mention, THIS IS A HAPPY FIC THOUGH, WRITTEN BEFORE THE FINALE SO IT'S NOT ABOUT THAT, and I figured why not, at least a moment of happiness in the midst of season 3's chaos, but like, discusses the depression key, from that finale, happy-ish ending, i am not ok, if it helps even one person distract themselves, my first queliot fic, please come commiserate with me in the comments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 02:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18511738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizandace/pseuds/Rizandace
Summary: "Yeah, okay. I promise," Q said, smiling slightly. "Thank you, El.""Always," Eliot said, and because he couldn't quite help himself, he leaned forward to place a kiss on Quentin's mouth. He told himself it was fine, that he and Margo kissed like this, just a firm, solid press of dry lips, a declaration of friendship, of devotion, of love, but not like that or anything. Hey, if Eliot was going to spend the rest of his life pretending not to be in love with Quentin Coldwater, he might as well go for broke.





	Overthinking It

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I wrote this way before yesterday. Obviously. And there are a ton of moments in it that now seem super fucking depressing given the finale, but I was practically done with it and I didn’t just want to scrap it, so I’m posting it here. My very first Queliot fic. Woohoo what a *super duper fun time* to be dipping my toes into this fandom. I’m so devastated that I’ve been shaking for hours and last night after watching the episode I couldn’t fall asleep for hours. So that’s where I’m at.
> 
> But hey, good news? This fic has nothing to do with the finale! It has nothing to do with the Monster or a post-possession reunion! It’s something I started working on after seeing episode 3x05, in a made up world where Eliot can’t quite lie to himself about how he’s feeling, and Q is stubborn enough to force the issue. This takes place post 3x06, and so it does include reference to Q’s depression and Benedict’s suicide. I know in the show Q had to run off and find a way to get the key, but here I’m letting him hang out in Fillory for a hot second. Because he deserves it, damn it.
> 
> I hope you enjoy... or I hope it distracts you from the pain... or something. Here’s my overly indulgent first attempt at Queliot! I don’t think I quite have the character voices down just yet, and this is largely unedited, but I wanted to share it anyway. Hang in there, guys. We can get through this together.

"How did he die?" Eliot asked. He said the words solemnly, without a hint of affectation or pretense, sliding down to sit next to Q on the floor with his back against the wall. The news that Benedict was dead felt like a dull, unreal spot in the center of Eliot's chest. He hadn't really known the mapmaker all that well, if he were being honest, but Benedict had become part of the texture of Fillory for him. He was there, like... well, not like  _scenery_ , exactly, but like something static, immutable. He'd never once tried to get to know the man, and he felt an uncomfortable squirm of guilt at the thought.

Quentin stared at the ground between his feet for a long moment, until Eliot leaned over slightly and nudged their shoulders together. "Q?" he asked softly. "What happened?"

"He - uh - the... the key, it sort of - did something to him," Q said. "He... um. He killed himself, El."

"Oh, shit," Eliot said, feeling his throat constrict. The haunted look on Q's face suddenly made a lot more sense. "That's - fuck, that's awful. The key made him do it? How?"

Q shrugged, their shoulders rubbing together a bit as he did so. Eliot may have been imagining it, but he thought Q was using the movement to move just the slightest bit away from him. He tried not to be hurt by the thought, focusing instead on Q's careful, quiet words. "It was, like, a depression key, I guess? When you held it, you'd see this cruel version of yourself, saying all the worst, most hateful things you secretly think about yourself... Poppy said it got to fifty percent of people right away, and they just... killed themselves to escape from the thoughts. Poppy was strong enough to hold on, but I guess Benedict..." he trailed off, his voice fading to a barely audible whisper. He still wouldn't meet Eliot's eyes.

Eliot could feel his heart pounding abnormally fast in his chest, and there was a strange ringing in his ears, but it actually took his mind a moment to catch up with his body's automatic responses of pure terror. " _Q_ ," he said, his voice coming out sharper than he'd intended, once the ramifications of Quentin's words had finally sunk in. "Did you touch that fucking thing? Did you?"

Quentin looked up at him, and Eliot didn't need to hear his answer. " _Fuck_ ," he said, and without pausing to think about it, he grabbed Quentin and pulled him against his chest, turning them so he could hold Q's face against his shoulder, keeping a firm grip on the back of Q's neck with his hand. "Fuck, are you okay?" he said, alarmed to hear the waver in his own voice as he gripped Q tighter.

"I'm fine," Quentin said, but he had his arms wrapped around Eliot and he was hold him so tight that Eliot could feel their heartbeats pounding together. "I'm okay, I'm... I think I'm okay."

"Don't," Eliot said, and then stopped, trying to calm himself down enough to say what he needed to say. The truth was, the thought of Q hurting himself had him gripped in a terror so profound he felt like he couldn't breathe. "Just, don't, okay?" he said finally, not sure exactly what he meant, not sure if it was the wrong thing to say. He simply didn't think he could manage anything more eloquent under the circumstances.

He felt Quentin let out a shuddering breath and then start to pull back, and it took a truly herculean effort to allow him to move away. But Eliot did, letting Quentin pull back far enough for them to make eye contact. "Eliot," Q said, his voice sad, and quiet, but also calm and strong. "I'm okay. Obviously things aren't... I mean, there's a lot of not so great things in our lives right now, but I'm not in that place. I'm handling my shit."

Eliot gave a brief little nod, and felt his lips twitch as he tried to force himself to smile. He met Q's stare dead-on, and squeezed the hand that was still behind Q's neck. "You come to me, or to Julia, or whoever the hell you want, but you don't go through any of this shit alone. Promise me."

There were other words that Eliot wanted to say, but didn't -  _I'd die if anything happened to you_  and  _please don't leave me_  and _I'm not strong enough to face any of this without you_.

"Yeah, okay. I promise," Q said, smiling slightly. "Thank you, El."

"Always," Eliot said, and because he couldn't quite help himself, he leaned forward to place a kiss on Quentin's mouth. He told himself it was fine, that he and Margo kissed like this, just a firm, solid press of dry lips, a declaration of friendship, of devotion, of love, but not like  _that_  or anything. Hey, if Eliot was going to spend the rest of his life pretending not to be in love with Quentin Coldwater, he might as well go for broke.

But Quentin didn't exactly stick to the game-plan. For a second, Q allowed the kiss, passive and still under Eliot's touch, but after a moment he shifted, bringing one hand up to slide into Eliot's hair, the other coming to rest over his heart. His lips parted, ever so slightly, and Eliot was simply not a good enough person to resist that, and before he'd given himself permission to do it, he was parting his own lips and pulling Q closer, one arm snaking almost by instinct around Q's waste, as Q deepened the kiss even further, making a soft, contented little sound into Eliot's mouth as he did so.

It felt like the most natural thing in the world. Eliot had always assumed that familiarity would make physical touch  _boring_  somehow, but he saw now that fifty years of being with this man hadn't been nearly long enough to get tired of him. Eternity wouldn't be enough time. He recognized the little sounds Q was making, recognized the way Q's hands were moving against the nape of his neck, sliding down to his lower back, and he also knew how to reciprocate, didn't need to plan it - supporting Q's head when he pressed his tongue into his mouth, stroking his thumb along the skin of Q's neck, all of it drawing them closer, all of it feeling so fucking good, a better high than Eliot had ever gotten from an illicit substance. The familiarity was part of the thrill, the knowledge that even though their bodies had technically never done this, (barring one hazy night with Margo), their minds and souls still contained a lifetime of connection. Eliot let his mind go blank, stubbornly refusing to think about what an awful idea this probably was. He felt Q shift the kiss to something sharper, felt just the barest hint of teeth against his lower lip, and let out an involuntary low moan, moving his body forward so they were pressed flush together from head to hips, so he could feel -

And then Q pulled away, taking his hands away from Eliot entirely and shuffling backwards on his knees until they were no longer touching. "No, I - " he said, pulling a hand through his hair in frustrated confusion. "No, sorry, I didn't mean to do that, I'm sorry - " he stood, and was already stumbling backwards a few steps down the hall before Eliot could get to his feet.

" _Wait_ ," he said, feeling oddly desperate, like if Q walked away right now he'd never see him again. "Q, wait." And Quentin stopped.

Of course, there was the fact that Eliot had no idea what to actually  _say_. He thought briefly about rushing forward, pushing Q up against the nearest wall and - but no, he couldn't do that. He had to be a fucking  _responsible adult_  and not maul his partner - his friend - the person who he had but also  _hadn't_  spent fifty years loving. He had to use his  _words._  "Fuck. I didn't... I don't know - " Eliot babbled, and as he walked the last few paces to Q, he reached his hands out automatically, looking to anchor himself the best way he knew how.

Quentin, to his credit, didn't jerk away when Eliot's hands reached out for his shoulders, but Eliot could tell he wanted to. "I'm sorry, Q," Eliot said finally, finding the words to be utterly inadequate.

"It's okay," Q shrugged under Eliot's hands. He had this horrible little smile on his face, one that screamed hopelessness and low self-worth. "I'm sorry too. I mean, you told me you didn't... and I wasn't trying to, um... I guess I just miss you."

And if that didn't make Eliot feel like the biggest asshole in the universe... "I miss you too," he said, mostly to get that miserable, sheepish expression off of Q's face. Not that he didn't mean it, because  _Gods_  he meant it. "I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do, Quentin," he said, seriously.

Something sparked in Q's eyes at Eliot's use of his full name, and he tightened his jaw, his throat bobbing before he spoke again. "What do you want to do?" he asked simply.

"Honestly? I want to keep kissing you."

"And after that?" Q said, his tone resolute, although Eliot was sure he'd felt him go tense under the pressure of Eliot's hands on his shoulders.

Eliot waggled his eyebrows a little bit, unable to resist the urge to break the tension, and Q let out an involuntary huff of exasperated amusement, before reaching a hand out to slap Eliot lightly on the arm. "Be serious." But there was a bit of hope in his eyes now, and Eliot didn't know how the hell he was supposed to live with himself if he snuffed that out again.

"I seriously love you, Q. And I'm seriously afraid I'm going to ruin everything." Eliot said. The words were as much a surprise to him as they evidently were to Quentin, whose jaw literally dropped for a moment before he realized and snapped it shut.

"You're un-fucking-believable," Q said finally. His tone was easy enough for Eliot to read, although he was sure he was one of the only people in the world who would be able to - Q sounded a little angry, maybe, but mostly just blank, a frightening sort of  _nothing_  that Eliot was all too familiar with from a lifetime spent with this man. It usually meant Q was about to yell at him.

"Q, I'm a mess, okay?" he said quickly, to cut Quentin off. It was important for him to hear this, for him to  _understand._  "And when we were  _there_ , in the past, it was different, but here, everything's so complicated, and if I fuck things up and I lose you, I'd never get over it, okay? Can't we just - I don't know, can't we just be -  _us_  and not deal with - like - the specifics?"

It sounded pathetic to his own ears, and based on the grim look on Q's face, he was similarly unimpressed. "So what, you're saying you don't want to put a label on it? El, for fuck's sake, we were married, we had a kid - "

"You and Ari were married, Q - "

"Don't give me that  _crap_. You don't want to be with me now, that's fine, but don't fucking pretend like what we had wasn't  _real_. You don't get to take that from me."

Q still looked angry, but there was also a tinge of desperation, of fear, hiding behind his eyes, and Eliot, as if such a thing were possible, felt even worse. "Let's go somewhere we can talk," Eliot said finally, struggling to keep his voice calm. He had no idea what he was doing, but there was one thing he was sure of - he had to fix this. He couldn't stand to see Q hurt, and it was infinitely worse to know he was the cause of it.

He grabbed Quentin's wrist, resisting the overwhelming instinct to take his hand and tangle their fingers together, like they used to do when they'd go on walks to get away from the mosaic for a couple of hours. Q didn't fight him, but he kept his posture stiff as Eliot steered him through the castle and finally into his own bedchambers. Fen was nowhere to be seen, luckily. She was probably attending to running the kingdom along with Margo. Which was maybe what Eliot was supposed to be doing, but... fuck it. This had to be more important right now.

"It was real," Eliot said firmly, as soon as the door was closed and he was facing Q again. "It was fucking real, and I'm not trying to brush it aside, or..."

"But yes you  _are_ ," Q interrupted, his voice just a touch too loud, a touch too high. "What you said, about... about that not being  _us_  when we have a choice... we  _had_  a choice, El. Sure, we were stuck in the past, and we were both committed to the quest, but none of that meant we had to fuck each other or raise a family together or be a goddamn couple - we  _chose_  that, didn't we?"

Eliot, horrifyingly, felt like he might be about to cry. He stared at Q, his beautiful, brave Q, and he really, really wanted to just say  _fuck it_  and go to him and, well, propose on the spot or do something equally insane to prove his devotion and love. But he couldn't do that. He wasn't strong enough for it and at some point Q was going to realize it, or Eliot was going to do something unbelievably cruel and then he'd lose Q entirely.

"We did," he finally said, pushing through a crack in his voice. "We did choose it, and I'm glad we did, it's just..."

"Eliot," Quentin said, stepping closer to him and bringing his hands up to place them on either side of his face. He tilted Eliot's head down so their noses were almost touching. "Do you trust me?"

"Obviously," Eliot said, although the word didn't come out quite as flippant as he'd planned.

"Nothing can fuck us up, El," Q said with conviction.

At this, Eliot pulled away slightly, keeping himself bent slightly towards Q, but creating a distance between them, to ease the temptation to press into him, kiss the words out of his mouth, show him exactly how he felt in the only way he'd ever been any good at. He felt like he might be trembling, which was all sorts of pathetic.

"You say that, but I think you're underestimating what a dick I can be - "

"I'm not," Q said, a hint of humor coloring his otherwise serious tone. "Believe me, I've factored that in. Sit down." He pulled Eliot forwards into the room and maneuvered them so they were sitting on the edge of the bed, facing each other. Q took Eliot's hands in his and looked at him for a long moment, and Eliot, remembering the way he'd looked away from Q in the throne room just days ago, forced himself to hold eye contact. He owed Quentin at least that much.

"Do you remember when we had that threesome with Margo?" Quentin asked casually, and it startled a laugh out of Eliot.

"Uh, yeah, Q, it's a little hard to forget."

"Well, that was a fucked up mistake and it shouldn't have happened," Q said. "Not because of you, although you were obviously in a really bad place at the time... I mean, it shouldn't have happened because... well, I was cheating on Alice, and because we were all under the influence of an emotional overdose and way too much booze... it totally fucked over my relationship with Alice and I still don't think we've recovered from it, if I'm being honest."

Eliot didn't say anything. He wasn't sure what to say, and he honestly had no idea where Q was going with this. After a moment, Quentin took a deep breath and continued. "But you and me? We were  _fine_. We were good friends before that, and we were good friends after that, and we forgave each other without even needing to discuss it. And then, El, two days ago I told you I wanted to be with you, and you rejected me, and we're  _fine_. I mean, yeah, you hurt me, but you didn't  _lose_  me because of it. I'm still here, and even if you said right now that you don't want me, it would still be  _okay_. Because we're stronger than that - we're strong enough to live more than fifty years together and still  _love_  each other at the end of all of that."

There was another pregnant pause, and Eliot could feel his heart pounding fast again, this time the terror mixed with a dangerous dose of hope and love and all sorts of mushy things he was hardly able to admit even in his own mind. Q continued, a little quieter, after letting the silence stretch and grown between them. "So if we give this thing a shot and it all goes to hell a week from now, it'll suck. But it won't break us, because nothing can.  We can go back to being friends, closer than most. You tell me right now you don't want this, and I'll leave it alone, Eliot. But if you do - "

And then Eliot was kissing him, a little messy, a touch too desperate, lacking the finesse of their earlier kiss, pulling Q forward, practically into his lap. "Yes," he said against Q's lips. "Yes, I do. I really, really, do."

Eliot could feel Q smile, the clack of their teeth together as he moved his mouth away from Eliot's and slid his face down to the crook of his neck and let out a somewhat shaky laugh. "Okay. Good. So you're done being an idiot."

Eliot laughed back. "Not by a mile, sweetheart. But that's okay, that's why I have you." He felt like he might be having an out of body experience, and he was pretty sure the rest of the world wasn't going to let them stay happy for long, but for now, he was allowed to push his hand into Q's hair and he was allowed to nudge Q's face off of his shoulder and connect their lips again. He was allowed to let himself feel this, and that was more than enough at the moment. He wasn't sure he was convinced by Q's reasoning - he'd fucked up so many good things in his life before - but he trusted his - what, boyfriend? That felt weird. Maybe when managed to tear his lips away from Quentin's neck, he'd ask him what they should call each other... it wasn't his top priority at the moment.

* * *

Later, actually  _much_ later, Eliot noticed with some level of smug satisfaction, seeing the black sky through the window, he was curled up with Q beside him in his bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling comfortably blank and exhausted, in a good way. He turned his head slightly so he could place a kiss against Q's forehead where it rested on his shoulder. "I feel a bit guilty," Eliot said, sighing in pleasure as Q squirmed against him, trying to get impossibly closer.

"Why?"

"This conversation started because Benedict's dead, and now I'm laying here, happier than I think I've ever been honestly, and..."

"Death makes people horny," Q said sleepily, nuzzling his nose in to Eliot's shoulder. Eliot laughed - more like  _giggled_ , and couldn't be bothered to care about his dignity.

"Hm, so that's what this is? You were horny so you came to your reliable pal - "

Q smacked him in the chest hard and sat up to look down at Eliot, but he was smiling. "Yeah. Also I really love you a lot, and you were being an asshole, and walking around with a depression monster telling you what a worthless piece of shit you are kinda gets in a person's head."

The grin slid off of Eliot's face as he looked up at Quentin. "You're worth everything to me, Q."

Q looked at him for a long moment, and Eliot had the overwhelming urge to crack a joke, change the subject, do something to ease the bubble of tension in his chest, but he'd decided to actually try for once, and that meant saying some of this shit out loud, didn't it?

"Okay," Q said finally. "Thank you." And then he smiled an easy smile, leaned over to press his lips briefly against Eliot's (both of their lips were swollen from how much they'd been kissing each other over the past few hours) and then flopped back down on Eliot's chest. "Let's get some sleep."

Q was asleep within minutes, and Eliot, to his surprise, felt himself drifting off almost immediately after him. Maybe they were actually done overthinking it, this time. Maybe it would work. Maybe they'd bring magic back and they'd defeat the faeries and they'd rule Fillory alongside Margo and Fen, and... and maybe none of that would happen, but he'd still get to keep this incredible person at his side when everything fell the fuck apart. Honestly, he was pretty happy with his options either way.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t really have a good way to end this, so I just cut it off here. Obviously the show would diverge from canon at this point, pretty wildly... in any case, at one point I might have considered writing more, seeing how the two of them becoming a canon couple in season 3 would affect the overarching plot moving forward. Maybe someday I’ll do just that, but right now everything is too raw. I hope this fic was a comfort or a distraction for some of you who might be feeling as low as I am right now...


End file.
